


A Thousand Years in Perfect Symmetry

by Elexica



Series: Elexica does AU-gust 2020 [20]
Category: Star Trek, Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: (C-PTSD in Space technically), AU-gust 2020, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Bajoran Culture, Bajorans, But really only like... because it's based off of some of that world building, Childhood Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Occupation of Bajor, PTSD in SPAAAAACE, Post-Star Trek (2009), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Public Blow Jobs, References to Emily Bronte, References to Shakespeare, Romulans, Star Trek: Picard Spoilers, Starfleet Academy, but not voyeurism - just opportunistic, but yeah it's mostly comfort, i'm proud of that one, ygocollablove, yugi and yami are the result of a betazoid transporter accident
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:47:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26593183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elexica/pseuds/Elexica
Summary: Even before the supernova, being a Romulan around Starfleet was something of a nightmare.  And being the adopted son of the former head of the Tal Shiar only served to complicate affairs.Kaiba didn’t need any friends, and he certainly didn’t want any.  Not that it mattered much what he wanted: none were forthcoming.After betraying his adopted father and turning the warbird over to the Federation forces, the consensus was that Kaiba was entitled to his seat in Starfleet Academy.  And even if neutralizing a threat to the Federation at great personal cost wasn’t enough, he was well beyond the minimum competency required.Anyone who couldn’t see his merit was a fool.Because Starfleet sure accepted some Grade-A dumbasses.And one of them was in charge of the Nova Squadron.. . .Bajoran Jou is the Captain of the Nova Squadron Flight Team.  Romulan Kaiba joins the team.  With the Rigel Cup approaching, the two of them will get it together-- in more ways than one.
Relationships: Jounouchi Katsuya | Joey Wheeler/Kaiba Seto
Series: Elexica does AU-gust 2020 [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860052
Comments: 11
Kudos: 19
Collections: AUgust 2020





	1. Five Hundred Behind

**Author's Note:**

> First- this work was inspired by the brilliant Star Trek AU of thegraeyone (https://archiveofourown.org/series/1579024). The stories are tremendously different -- this is set hundreds of years later in the Star Trek Universe (contemporaneous with Picard) and both Kaiba and Jounouchi are different races, plus this is at the Academy, etc. Still, the idea to cross violetshipping with Star Trek came from them, and I genuinely love and highly recommend giving those fine works (and all of their writing) a read!!
> 
> Second- thanks to my amazing support system starring Alecto and the most splendid beta reader a nerd could ask for Cardinal_Perplexus. All literary allusions are in here to nourish him. Additional credit to the YGOCollabLove Server for the good vibes and unending encouragement. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: This is (yet another) story about PTSD/C-PTSD/Childhood and Adolescent Trauma. I do my utmost to treat the subject with seriousness, and for it to be a genuine exploration of growth and support. But there is a fair amount of gore, vividly described violence, and frequent flashbacks. There is mention of the Bajoran Occupation/Camps/Genocide as well. If any of this is going to be harmful to you, please do not read this fic. 
> 
> Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4YCob9oopAVlN6doqjzILA?si=GJoWoXOeSA6hrZ4HtSSRfg

. . .

And all you can hear is the sound of your own heart,

And all you can feel is your lungs flood and the blood course,

But, oh, I can see five-hundred years dead set ahead of me,

Five-hundred behind, a thousand years in perfect symmetry,

A thousand years, no getting rid of me,

A thousand years in perfect symmetry.

\- “The Sea Is a Good Place to Think of the Future” by Los Campesinos!

. . .

It was always the same nightmare:

Kaiba was standing on the bridge of the warbird, those glowing green lights radiating off of the lightly metallic tones of his uniform. The ship had outrun the supernova and was housing two thousand of the last survivors—exceeding the ships’ maximum capacity by five hundred warm bodies. The last Romulans who would see their homeworld. Gozab, his adopted father, the commander of the Tal Shiar by birthright and by bloodied hands, was going to take the ship on the suicide mission to kill just a few more of the Federation weaklings. A smidge of vengeance for the false promises and failures of their crews. A final Romulan dagger, a last disrupter shot into the void as their race scattered into the heat death of their destiny.

The dream was always so accurate until this point: the weight of his shoulder pads, his bandolier, the disrupter at his side. The neutronium dagger—one of the only things he had retained when he and Mokuba had been orphaned. He could have sold it on a million different occasions, and on hungry nights in the streets of the Capitol, he had considered it. But with the tenacity that would become his trademark, he had held on to the valuable blade.

The feeling of the metal under his uniform dug into his stomach savagely. 

Kaiba had assumed his position to the right of the captain’s chair. Since he was ten, he’d stood in some variation of the position: a right-hand man, even as a boy. He’d received orders for years, standing planted there, at full attention, back ramrod straight. Icy blue eyes staring into the starfield ahead. Anything he was asked, anything the Commander required. Perfect obedience; the only flair in Kaiba’s performance was the particular joy in executing cruel orders that was a trademark of their race. 

The confrontation went the same way every night that it replayed in his mind.

“Father. This is a suicide mission. Our race could perish. This will not avenge Noa. You are making a critical mistake.” Kaiba did not stumble or tremble.

“You know nothing of honor, Seto. Nothing of justice.” Always his informal name, known only to his family. So personal. As if the man had ever treated him as a true son. 

And then, even though it never quite felt like it was by Kaiba’s hand—it truly felt dissociated from the first time in reality to the thousandth in the reverie—but the neutronium dagger would be buried under his elder’s arm. The hardest material in the universe piercing that bastard’s heart. Nothing less could have gotten through, Kaiba thought bitterly.

The man always bled out so fast. It felt impossible that so much life force could be drained onto the ship’s metal floor in just seconds. All of those hours of torture Kaiba had endured at that man’s folly… over with one smooth stab. 

Simultaneously flawless and desperate, like Kaiba himself.

In reality, Kaiba had pushed the corpse out of the chair and assumed command. No one would challenge his nobility, his right, his sacrifice. And no one doubted that Kaiba was as capable with his disrupter as his dagger. Romulan families were sacred—if Kaiba would kill his own father, every single officer’s life would mean nothing in comparison. They’d seen him do terrible things as a child, and the combined respect and terror from the crew must have been enough to make it.

If anyone had tried to mutiny on that degrading voyage to Federation space, he supposed that Mokuba had disposed of them. As far as Kaiba knew, only one man had perished. He had sat in that chair as he surrendered to the Federation, one of his feet tapping of the spine of his father.

In the dream, Kaiba wouldn’t react. He’d stand there, staring at the green blood on his hands, his dagger, the floor, his uniform. The whole dream would freeze. He was stuck there. In that pool of blood. That last word from the man—Justice—would play over and over in his mind. 

Effectively, every night he was unable to get past that moment. 

When he would wake up, whispering that perverted word—Justice—into his pillow, he would thank the gods that Romulans were not burdened by telepathic powers. Mokuba had been permitted to room with him, and he didn’t need his brother to see any more of this than strictly necessary. 

He would take that 3 am vision as a good enough reason to go on a walk down past the piers, to rocks lining the edge of the bay, nestled in the wake of the Golden Gate Bridge. The air was always too cold and too damp for his taste, but the reflection of the lights off of the bay weren’t so bad. They were a decent proxy for the stars that he couldn’t see from the light pollution.

. . .

It was always the same nightmare:

It started in the refugee camp. The ground was packed dirt, and on wintry days like today, it would be slick mud. Even though it was a dream, the hot stab of hunger felt so real, cramping his side. The lean-to that they lived in felt just as shoddy, just as sad, and still somehow so big. Jou knew, from the reports filed with the Federation, from all of the arguments and those hours of reparations litigation testimony that he’d sat through, that the house must have been tiny. Everything in one room, no where to stand, barely enough space to sleep.

But he would always be seven years old in the dream, with bloody knees and knobby elbows, and a combination of the sharp insight of a child and that fever dream quality that the past leaves you with.

His useless father was off doing who knows what with who knows who. Jou had heard rumblings that he was trading intel to the Cardassians in exchange for ale. Jou never did confirm or deny that. Although he was willing to assume the worst, he knew the facts: his father couldn’t have been that much of a traitor or the resistance wouldn’t have used Jou the way that it did.

Jou was too young to be a helpful planner to the resistance. Seven-year-old Bajoran children were as useless as human children of the same age—cute, but even the brightest ones were hardly effective strategists. Jou played a specific role at that age, when it came to the resistance. He could harbor notes and pass them along without sincere investigation. Kids, regardless of race, were always sort of weird, and Cardassian overlords were more likely to ignore them.

Cardassians had no qualms with using Bajoran children for slave labor, though of course they were of limited abilities. Still, Jou was very steadily employed as an assistant for the Commandant’s son. The silver lizard boy, Marak, always seemed to be relatively unaware of how exactly his underling and friend had arrived in his employ, but his father had informed him that the situation was supposed to instruct him in leadership. For his part, Marak always seemed reluctant to follow the path his father had laid out for him.

Marak was not a cruel master, and Jou retained precious few memories of the relationship. Mostly, Jou remembered mornings in the camps, having plastic wrapped notes placed under his tongue in the mornings at the camp, and having to refrain from swallowing them until he could open up to another Bajoran worker in the Commandant’s kitchen, who would take the notes from him. From there, the intel would continue to travel through the veins of the resistance. 

Jou wasn’t perfect—he’d swallowed a note once. And worse, one day he almost got caught. He had tripped on a shoelace while playing with Marak, and the note had tumbled out of his mouth, alongside a baby tooth. Always a smart boy, he remembered the look on the Commandant’s face as he picked up the note. Jou knew nothing of the content by design, but he could tell he was in trouble.

Luck, he was told, had been on his side—the Commandant’s house was obliterated by a resistance explosive mere seconds after the Commandant had found his note. 

Jou watched the resistance fighter from the kitchen slice the Commandant to smithereens with his own dinner knife. Jou had begged her to spare Marak. She did, and the boy was turned loose in the Bajoran countryside. Another war-orphan.

Paradoxically, liberty seemed worse than slavery from the perspective of a child who had been positioned in this way. Jou knew better, of course, and as he grew up he realized what the bondage would have meant. His entire chest would sting from the guilt when he thought about it.

From that moment on, Jou had proven his mettle enough to join the proper ranks of the resistance and was the youngest member of his cell. Over the next few months, he learned how to be every bit as savage and skillful as he needed to be. His sister was too young to be of use and was left behind. Within a similar timeframe, Starfleet officers would find her. 

The Federation doctors said that her vision would not likely return. She stayed on Bajor with the other war-orphans. Even now, she was still too young to enlist in Starfleet anyway, though Jou suspected she wasn’t interested. She was made for peacetime. Maybe she would become a Vedek. As far as Jou was concerned, she was qualified to be the Kai. 

He hadn’t had the option.

By the time he was eight, his resistance cell had secured both a impressive track record and a dangerous reputation. But he had little interest in continuing with his peers. The Starfleet officers were organized and surrounded by abundance. Jou wanted in.

Embarrassingly, the nightmares stemmed from the activities of the resistance, the moment that he was liberated from Cardassian demands. Despite all the distance he managed to put between himself and his homeworld, the moment that trapped him was always the explosion. He had woken up from that explosion thousands of times by now. 

He wished it was his first fight, that intercepted note, maybe some vitriol at Marak. 

But it was that cold, evil house with that shiny green metal, so out of place on his once-lush homeworld, being blown into ash. 

When he awoke from that flash, Jou often struggled to fall back asleep. He would wander out of the dorm in the Presidio and find his way down to the San Francisco Bay. The sidewalk felt pleasing under his feet, and the air was always so fresh from the fog. He was in love with Earth.

. . .

Even before the supernova, being a Romulan around Starfleet was something of a nightmare. And being the adopted son of the former head of the Tal Shiar only served to complicate affairs. 

Kaiba didn’t need any friends, and he certainly didn’t want any. Not that it mattered much what he wanted: none were forthcoming.

After betraying his father and turning the warbird over to the Federation forces, the consensus was that Kaiba was entitled to his seat in Starfleet Academy. And even if neutralizing a threat to the Federation at great personal cost wasn’t enough, he was well beyond the minimum competency required.

Every day that Kaiba sat in the gods forsaken auditorium, shivering his ass off, he became more and more certain that even if he had remained an orphan, roaming the streets of Romulus with his brother and living off of the sympathetic scraps of the shopkeepers… his position at the academy was more than deserved. Anyone who couldn’t see his merit was a fool.

Because Starfleet sure accepted some Grade-A dumbasses. 

And one of them was in charge of the Nova Squadron.

. . .

“I’m not Xenophobic,” the blond said, arms raised defensively, “I don’t got anythin’ against Romulans. But _the heir to the Tal Shiar_? You’re fucking with me, Yug’.”

But of course, Yugi was not, nor was his twin. The Betazoids exchanged a casual glance, and Jou sighed, rubbing his hand over the ridges on the bridge of his nose. They were having yet another conversation that he wasn’t invited to.

“Guys! Have I not been through enough?!” Jou flicked at his traditional earring.

Yugi and Yami smiled warmly. Jou had played the Bajoran sympathy card to death, and at this point it was more of a running joke.

Yami answered for the pair, “You’ve seen the flight simulation records. He set half of them. The only better scores belong to us. And you.”

Tristan, a frustrated human, feigned a cough in the background. 

“And Tristan’s the best cheerleader a team could ask for!” Yugi said, in a tone so genuine that Tristan almost didn’t chuck his combadge at the big spikes of his hair. For all that Tristan lacked in piloting craft, he was a good engineer with excellent aim. The little delta sigil landed smack in the middle of Yugi’s thick hair, caught like a fly in amber.

“Really guys? Nova Squadron is a _team_. And no one’s less of a team player than Kaiba,” Jou said. “If we want a ghost of a chance to beat the Vulcan Science Academy at the Rigel Cup this year, we have ta be able to work together.”

Yugi’s hand searched through his formidable hair, trying to withdraw Tristan’s combadge, so Yami answered. “We’ve done tag-routines with him. He’s a loose cannon, sure. But so are you!”

“I’m not a loose cannon! Professor Paris says I’m just enthusiastic,” Jou waved his hands at the sky.

The twins fixed an even stare at Jou, knowing well that the decision had been made.

“By the Prophets, yer gonna be the death of me.”

. . .

Kaiba had a reputation. He knew it. At this point, it was practically a legend: the terrifying fifteen year old who had used his father’s corpse as a footrest as he handed the Tal Shiar flagship to the Federation in exchange for safety and protection for the fifteen-hundred officers and five hundred civilians on board.

He expected that it would make his Nova Squadron teammates uncomfortable to stand near him. After all, when he walked through the hallways of the academy, people gave him space automatically. It was like walking around with a force field.

He had not thought all the way through the fact that fully half the team was from Betazed. To them, his clouded mind was an open book. From the look on their faces, they preferred that he stay in a shuttlecraft, where the metal casing could keep his brain from radiating anguish and rage. They had handled maneuvers together expertly in simulations, but standing in the same room was causing Yugi to keep his eyes glued to the floor and making Yami sweat a little, as they were just trying to protect their psychic energy. Romulans had a habit of leaking unpleasant telepathic energy—lacking the control of the Vulcans or the blank slate of the oblivious humans or Klingons.

Jou looked satisfied that Kaiba’s brainwaves were all but poisonous to the matched pair. Jou had made it clear when he had failed to reject the application that it was out of respect for Kaiba’s flight rankings and absolutely no other reason. The self-satisfied smirk on Jou’s face was especially vexing to Kaiba.

It was supposed to be a social visit. The group was supposed to practice coordination and teamwork through Parrises squares. Mokuba had tagged along as an alternate in case someone twisted their ankle on the ramp again.

Not one person in the group looked genuinely happy in the skin-tight blue bodysuits.

“Screw ‘squares. The twins look like they’re ‘boutta throw up.” Jou stared dead into Kaiba’s blue eyes.

For his part, Kaiba coolly raised a single slanted eyebrow. “What do you have in mind?” His imperial accent was muted by three years of Federation living.

“Springball. It’s a Bajoran game, kinda like handball but with a racket. And full contact.” Jou put his hands on his hips.

Kaiba huffed a sinister laugh. “It shall be my pleasure to best you at your own game.”

After two hours of the most violent, brutal, pointless Springball Yugi had ever witnessed, he and Yami were counting the seconds until the game would finally time out. While at first they had been soothed by the focus clearing Kaiba’s mind of much of it’s most disturbing elements, both boys were now radiating pain from a variety of sports injuries.

Kaiba was clearly stronger and had been eager to use his height and the power of his brute force to keep Jou from scoring.

And to an extent, it had worked. The bruises blooming under the spandex had already started to slow Jou, and he was favoring his left side something awful since a particularly rough check.

But the scoreboard was neck and neck. For every part Kaiba was tough and efficient, Jou was equal measures scrappy and determined. He was also somewhat more agile—a significant benefit in the fast-moving game—and more experienced in the sport.

Kaiba eked out a game winning point. It was obviously a pyrrhic victory. Kaiba would win at all costs, but he took little pleasure in close games. He was a true Romulan—and considered domination to flow through his blood alongside the copper platelets.

Tristan walked into the court, blessed with that uniquely human ignorance. “Great game guys! Who wants to find a good haunt for some synthehol?”

He received stink eyes in matching blue and brown. 

“He’s not bad at playing ball for a set’leth,” Kaiba scoffed. “But I don’t know how he can pilot a shuttlecraft without a brain capable of conscious thought.”

“Like green-goblin over here would know a good, clean game if it punched him in the pointy ears!” Jou shot back. “You coulda killed me with some of those checks.”

“Although perhaps not _gentle_ , I did not violate any of the rules of the game. Perhaps if you were not so _weak_ —” 

Weak, Kaiba would learn, was not an insult that Jou was going to bear. 

Furthermore, Kaiba would note as the staff in the school’s medical facilities reset his nose, “weak” was not an accurate assessment of Jou’s strength. He threw, in Earth parlance, a mean right hook.

. . . 

Zipping about in the shuttlecrafts was a more effective form of communication for the team, strangely enough. When everyone was limited to clipped, accurate notices of movements and orders, somehow the strife seemed to melt away.

Perhaps it was the introduction of Anzu, an ace pilot (despite a scholastic focus on communications) who was hellbent on friendship and warmth, that did the trick of smoothing things out. Perhaps the twins, no longer burdened by any other consciousness interrupting their connection, were able to remain distant from the drama and purified the commlink.

But the most likely cause of the newfound peace in the group was the fact that Kaiba and Jou had complementary flight styles. Kaiba’s was meticulous and neat, but also daring. All of the brilliance and skill of a true master of the sport, tinged with a disregard for his own life. 

Jou’s style was equally risky but much more fun. His loops were touched with flair and panache, somehow he managed to make even the flight of a shuttlecraft more cool and charismatic. 

When they were flying together, Kaiba couldn’t help but feel charmed by the combination of skill and personality in Jou’s flight paths.

And Jou would have to admit that under all of the loathing for the haughty bastard, his technique was damn impressive.

The disconnect made them perfect for the more challenging, showy flight patterns. Where anyone with a dose of good sense wouldn’t dare to tread, they were eager to nosedive in on the wrong side of Saturn.

They actually might have a shot at the Rigel Cup.

. . .

Dream-Kaiba was standing there again. Immobilized by his own fear, dagger in hand, green blood gushing. He wanted to breathe and move on, the way he had in reality. But instead of air, his lungs were choking on some kind of liquid. 

“Bro!” Mokuba was standing over him, a glass empty in his hand. Kaiba breathed in harshly, and water flew up his nose. “You wouldn’t wake up,” Mokuba said, looking to the empty glass in his hand.

Kaiba knew his brother was censoring the night’s events for his own sake. On other nights, he had tasted the copper in his mouth and felt the scratch of a throat that had been screaming.

Kaiba dried his face with a tired hand. It wasn’t very effective, but it wasn’t a bad start either. “I’m going on a walk.” 

Mokuba’s eyes hinted that he wanted to say something more, but he just nodded and handed back the neutronium dagger. 

“For protection,” Mokuba said. On nights like these, both brothers were glad that the Romulan race had lost its telepathic abilities. Any distance they could get was a blessing. 

Kaiba didn’t want to think any further on how his brother got the blade. Kaiba slept with it sheathed and strapped directly to his chest. The metal would thump against his chest with the beat of his heart, and it was the only way he ever fell asleep. And in that second, Kaiba realized the sheath was empty. 

He just accepted the dagger, slid it back into the black alien-leather sheath on his exposed chest, and went into the cold San Francisco mist.

Mokuba stood in the dorm hallway in his pajama pants, but only for a second. Otherwise, all of the heat from their dorm room would dissipate in the hallway of the building. 

. . .

Jou didn’t like to be this way about explosions. He was certain if it was revealed, he’d never be space-qualified: starships constantly had little explosions. And every single blast reminded him of that first one. He’d see any flash, and suddenly he was seven years old, running for his life. Even if his fight or flight was under control—and after all these years, it _was_ , that spike in adrenaline stuck like a brand.

Sometimes even a bright lamp being turned on when he was in the wrong state of mind would set his heartbeat off in the wrong way, charge him with electricity and send terrible jolts up his spine.

The science lab experiment was supposed to make a little spark. And really, maybe that’s all that it made. Like a festive sparkler in the hands of a child, the flash of light was hardly more than six inches in diameter at its most expansive. The bolt of sound was so quick, it was like no one else had heard it.

But his blood had run cold, and now he lay in bed, brightness searing the interior of his eyes. He knew from experience that sleep would not approach.

Changing back into his civilian clothes and grabbing a light jacket, Jou headed out toward the bay.

. . .

“Of course, ya gotta ruin the whole damn bay too.”

Kaiba had assumed a noble pose upon a large rock right at the edge of the calm bay. It was a quiet night—the weather was peaceful, just a little wind whipped a bit of sea mist into the air. 

His dagger was out. Kaiba was inspecting the reflection of the moon on the dagger and on the water. Jou had to admit that it looked sort of badass. His torso was bare against the night sky, the echoes of distant streetlights and the wandering lights from the city radiating off of his muscular back. The glint of the knife and the smooth curves of Kaiba’s features were hard for Jou to look away from.

Jou’s comment glided off his shoulders, unacknowledged. Kaiba was fixated on the stars, and the moon. 

“Oi! Green-blooded bastard! I’m talkin’ to you!” Jou shouted, wandering through the damp grass. His boots were getting soaked with condensation.

Kaiba finally turned his head and acknowledged his teammate. “What do you want?” Kaiba said, with a chilly venom.

“I dunno. Why are you out here at 3 am? Some sorta creepy Romulan training thing?” Jou’s voice was tinged with genuine curiosity. 

“I was getting some air.” As if that was a normal answer, as if it was wholly standard for Kaiba to spend his late nights staring into the abyss. Flashing the gleaming metal at his narrowed eyes.

“Damn, yer a long way from the dorm to just… get air. And you ain’t dressed for a hike are ya?”

Kaiba looked over fully, adjusting his shoulders to face him and focusing all of his harsh attention on Jou. To his credit, Jou didn’t flinch.

“You’re out here too. I’m not asking why.” Kaiba said with a small shiver. When contemplating his eternal strife, Kaiba was able to freeze out the sensation of the sea-mist and gentle wind. Now, distracted by his teammate, he was struggling not to shake like a leaf.

Jou noticed the shiver immediately, and smirked. “You must be cold as balls—I can’t believe your desert-ass is out here… it’s like forty degrees!” Jou took the opportunity to rake his eyes along Kaiba’s undeniably chiseled chest, resting his eyes on pert nipples. They were tinged with a green blush. He really was cold.

Jou smiled with that signature charm and warmth, and Kaiba could do little to stop his own heart from beating faster.

Without a second thought, Jou shucked his jacket and offered it to Kaiba. “You need it more than me.”

Kaiba considered the red corduroy fabric. It was clearly a little small for him. Wouldn’t be that warm anyway, except for the remainder of Jou’s body heat trapped in the jacket. Kaiba was not a hesitant man, and decided to shove his arms in. 

“Acceptable.” Kaiba admired his own form in the jacket.

“Please. Just cause you were some Romulan Prince or whatever, ya think you’re better than me.” Jou sighed.

“Is that what they’re saying now?”

Jou nodded.

“Romulus doesn’t have any princes. It’s a democracy, in a way. There is a senate, governed by Praetors,” Kaiba had the cadence of a nature documentary.

“The Cardassians didn’t exactly teach Romulan politics in the camps, sorry,” Jou answered, not at all sorry.

“My adopted father held a significant position, if that is what you mean. He was the head of the Tal Shiar, a sort of special paramilitary group with enormous power. I was trained to inherit it,” Kaiba took a deep breath, “And I did, although I’m sure that _veruul_ —”

“Veruul? My universal translator didn’t—”

“It’s not the sort of thing that would be in a Federation dictionary. It is not a nice word.” Kaiba returned his gaze to the distance. “It doesn’t matter. Why do you care at all?”

Jou shrugged. “I mean, we’re teammates. And everyone at the Academy believes you killed your dad for power, which is sorta a lot.”

Kaiba started walking back to the dorms; Jou trailed instantly. “That much is true.”

Kaiba walked the same way through the wet grass that he did through the halls of the warbirds. His shoulders were so square that even in Jou’s soft jacket he almost seemed to be wearing those grotesque shoulder pads and checkerboard maroon fabric. You can take the boy off of Romulus, but you can’t take the Romulus out of the boy, Jou supposed. 

Imperial types didn’t impress Jou all that much, anyway. He’d seen the Commandant try to walk like this too—although Kaiba wore it a hell of a lot better.

Jou had to jog a little to keep up. “So you killed your _dad_ and commandeered his ship when you were FIFTEEN?!”

“And you were more docile as a child of the resistance?”

Jou looked entirely shocked.

“I’m not the only one with a reputation.” Kaiba smirked, and involuntarily pulled the jacket tighter as they hit Embarcadero street. “I thought I should find out where you learned to punch like that, since I assume that won’t be the last time I’m on the receiving end of your ire.”

Jou rolled his eyes and playfully shoved at Kaiba’s arm. “I’ll try not to punch you again, if ya can try not to ask for it. But you really commanded an entire Romulan ship?”

“I had to. Gozab’s suicide mission was as selfish as it was foolish. He wanted vengeance on the Federation long before the supernova and he tried to use the extinction of our people as an excuse. There were five hundred civilians on that ship.”

“You don’t strike me as a guy too concerned about civilians.” The pair passed under the floating beam of a streetlight, and for a second Jou could see the harsh lines of Kaiba’s cheekbones and the distance in his eyes.

“When I…” Kaiba’s hand moved to the sheath on his chest, the tips of his cold fingers reminding him just how damp and cold he was. “When it happened, I was only even thinking of one civilian.”

Jou didn’t venture a guess, and let the silence speak for him.

“My brother. He never did anything wrong, he didn’t deserve to share in that fate.” Kaiba sounded more tense than usual, his walking sped up further.

“You were a kid, no way you coulda done anything wrong either!”

Kaiba stopped dead in his tracks, the shade of a laurel tree blocking half of the moonlight from his face. The leaves augmented the rest of his form, shadowing it from another streetlight. The glow of the city was just a few blocks away, but failed to reach them.

“You don’t know me.”

Jou took a second before bravely shrugging. “Guess not. But it sounds like we both had a rough time.”

Kaiba considered him for a long second before nodding and returning to that long walk back to the dorms in silence.

Jou followed Kaiba all the way to the room he shared with Mokuba. The two stood in the hallway for a minute before Jou explained, “I uh… need that jacket back. But I thought I’d let you wear it ‘til you’d be warm again.

Kaiba smiled softly. “You are not as bad as I had thought.” Even if he couldn’t choke out gratitude, he handed the jacket back gingerly.

“Same.” Jou smiled and watched the Romulan tap the keypad and retreat to the dark dorm room. He lingered outside long enough to hear Mokuba wake up and complain.

. . .

“You gave him your _what_?!” Tristan was fiddling with the guts of a test transporter. He was lowered below the ground and Jou was supposed to be helping him by handing him the tools he needed them. Jou couldn’t tell an isolinear spanner from an isolitic converter, so he wasn’t particularly useful. But he was good company.

Even though Jou couldn’t see Tristan’s expression, from his tone of voice he could tell his mouth was shocked into gaping.

“He was cold!” Jou said, sounding more defensive than he had intended. “Dumbass was out there, shirtless, with just like… a knife holster strapped to his bare chest.”

“First: please spare me any more details, I don’t need a repeat of the Andorian story, that was too gross,” Tristan shouted up, over the buzzing sound of a welding device.

“Hey! You wondered if they actually had three—”

“And now I wish I didn’t know. Or about the retractable—” 

“Tris’, I really didn’t do anything. I’m not _attracted_ to Kaiba! He’s just like… a weird dude,” Jou fiddled with what he was 90% sure was a coil spanner. Could have been a coil scanner, though. 

“And second: you approached the craziest, most violent guy on campus—a known _killer_ —at 3 am, when he’s clearly un-fucking-hinged and playing with a _KNIFE_?!” Tristan’s concerns echoed against the curved walls of the demo transporter chamber.

“What? You’re scared ‘a him?” Jou asked, pressing a button on the coil scanner that made it vibrate violently in his hands. He scrambled not to drop the thing as it bounced on his palm. He managed a lucky guess and hit another button that stilled the device

“Coil spanner,” Tristan requested. Jou leaned over the gaping hole in the transporter floor and lowered his arm down, handing him whatever he’d been playing with.

Tristan took the little device.

“Close enough,” he huffed, before continuing his work on the tech. “Anyway, yeah, of course I’m scared of him. His vibes are so bad it makes Yugi sick to have him in the same room. And has he ever said one decent thing to you?”

Jou shrugged before realizing Tristan couldn’t see his body language. “Yeah, I guess yer right. He was… well I guess he didn’t say thanks for the jacket, but…” Jou reached into Tristan’s tool box, and began playing with the optronic coupler. Tristan really did get the best toys.

The buzzing stopped. Tristan poked his head out from the hole for the first time. “Wait. Jou, no. You cannot keep doing this with the most emotionally unavailable people at the academy. Remember what happened with Mai?”

Jou couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact, even though Tristan had finally graced him with his full attention. “I already said, it’s not like that.”

Even her name brought a pang of distress to Jou’s stomach. Mai had been the single most badass Orion woman he’d ever met. A genius in her own right, and formerly one of the toughest interplanetary mercenaries in the galaxy, she was a TA for Jou’s Advanced Tactical Training course. When the course was over, he had gotten a _whole different sort_ of tactical training.

She had been open, honest, straightforward: she wasn’t looking for something permanent, or anything emotional. Jou thought he could handle that, but he was too much of a sap, too loyal. Even after everything he’d been through, when it came to love he was always a bit vulnerable.

Even a full year later, the memory of her soft blond hair and long green limbs was never far from his mind.

Tristan fixed him with a serious glare. “It better not be. That guy’s got serious baggage, and that’s the last thing you need right now.”

Jou couldn’t quite look him in the eyes, and was spared from the indignity by triggering some sort of sharp beam on the optronic coupler.

“Shit! Don’t touch that!” Tristan emerged fully from the hole and went about resetting the tricky piece of equipment.

. . .

“So… who walked you home last night?” Mokuba smirked cruelly over his own bowl of viinerine. The replicators didn’t quite do it justice, but it still tasted a bit like his old life.

Kaiba remained silent as he bit down on another bite of matching viinerine. 

“I didn’t hear much of course,” Mokuba’s smirk melted into a conniving smile. “But he sounded a bit like that Bajoran from your flight team.”

“He was also taking a walk.”

“Is that so?” Mokuba looked straight at his breakfast, but proceeded to push the chunks around playfully.

“What are you implying?” Kaiba was fully uninterested in the Qowat Milat, Zani, the whole way of absolute candor—but he was also deeply impatient and intolerant of subordination. His voice sometimes took that commanding sound, even with his younger brother. 

Mokuba shrugged, smile fading.

“I dunno, just that maybe you… made a friend.”

Kaiba said nothing further, but the viinerine was no longer palatable, dissolving into ashes on his tongue.

. . .

“My, my, my, Kaiba-boy. What are the chances?” Admiral Pegasus purred from where he was posed in the Nova Squadron’s dedicated shuttle bay. He leaned saucily against a cargo block, and has holding two lowball glasses filled with blue liquid. One sniff, even at 20 paces, and Kaiba could recognize authentic Romulan Ale.

The pleasant echoes of warmth that had stuck to Kaiba since the night before vanished as soon as Kaiba made eye contact with the Admiral. Pegasus’s xB status wasn’t terribly obvious when his platinum hair covered his one remaining borg appendage—that horrible spectrum analytic tool with the holographic matrix where his right eye once been. It unsettled Kaiba deeply, in an instinctual sort of way.

“This craft has been assigned to me,” Kaiba looked over his shoulder at the White Dragon. “And this is where the craft is required to be docked. Given how some individuals have spoken of my work ethic, the chances that I would be here are near—”

“Oh please just take the drink. Being in the Federation is turning you into a Vulcan every day.”

Kaiba suppressed a hiss and knocked back the ale. The aftertaste took him back to his days with the Tal Shiar. Finest ale in the galaxy, from the way it stung his throat, and always at such a cost.

“What do you want, Pegasus?” Kaiba said, playing up the gruffness in his voice.

“I’m worried you’re having too much fun here at school,” Pegasus approached, standing only a few inches from him now. “And are neglecting some of your extracurricular duties.”

Kaiba never backed down from a challenge, even as the ale shifted uncomfortably in his stomach. “I have informed you of absolutely everything that I know about the Zhat Shiar terrorist cell. My former colleagues are not especially pleased with me. Even though I saved their pathetic lives.”

Pegasus retreated a step and fiddled with his pocket. He dropped an isolinear chip in Kaiba’s empty glass.

“No matter. Starfleet Intelligence—”

“Section 31?” Kaiba smirked as a flash of recognition and anger tinted Pegasus’ good eye.

“I’ve never heard of such an organization,” Pegasus bit out. “As I was saying, Starfleet Intelligence has reason to believe that one of your old cronies is playing Vulcan at the Science Academy. He’s on one of their teams—the one that qualified for the Rigel Cup.” 

Kaiba’s eyes narrowed. As if winning the Rigel Cup wasn’t the only thing he could think about. It would prove—once and for all—that he was the best pilot, most capable warrior, and smartest strategist in the galaxy. It was step one on his plan to win back the allegiance of his people. The cup also represented something Kaiba didn’t want to think about: definitive proof of his value.

Pegasus had continued with his briefing. “He’s about your age. So much Romulan data was lost in the supernova, so his appearance is unknown to us. But according to subspace traffic, he’s something of a ringleader among the rising Romulan-supremacist groups. Would you know Ziglan if you saw his face?”

Of fucking course, it would be Ziglan. The son of one of Gozab’s rivals, and a biological heir at that. Kaiba was the only thing standing between Ziglan and what the _veruul_ saw as his birthright. Kaiba had barely spared a thought to the other boy, beyond derision at his failed coups back in the day. The thought that Ziglan could be gaining traction with certain rebellious groups within the dwindling Romulan population made Kaiba sick to his stomach.

“He’s certainly wearing some make-up, potentially some prosthetics to appear more Vulcan but—”

“I know the… man… and I will crush him.” Kaiba muttered, words less intelligible as a result of how purely angry he was.

“Oh, that’s just wonderful, Kaiba-boy! But not quite what I was going to ask. Of course, I’m root-root-rooting for the home team, and you may well bring home the cup. But what I need is for you to take that chip,” Pegasus gestured to the see through neon yellow bar still planted in Kaiba’s cup, “and put it in his PADD—or whatever computer system he’s using. It contains a worm that can infiltrate the whole terrorist cell.”

Kaiba nodded, drawing out the drive and placing it in the hip-pocket of his flight suit. He turned away from Pegasus, eager to be free of the whole affair.

“Ah, one more thing, Kaiba-boy,” Pegasus’ voice lowered sinisterly, “how is your dear brother doing? Staying out of trouble? I’d hate to see anyone suggest that he’s involved with any of this.”

Kaiba flipped around, rage ignited. “Don’t you dare bring him into this. He’s only thirteen.”

“Ha! And when you were thirteen, you were just an innocent little doll, right?! Well I just think, once we have the worm, I’m sure you’ll both be beyond reproach.”

Kaiba stormed out before he whipped out some Kormerek moves and broke the Admiral’s spine. 

. . .

The next training session went even more smoothly than the first time. No one could ignore the undertone of respect between the two volatile pilots. Kaiba actually responded to Jou’s commands. Jou actually kept appropriate distance from Kaiba’s craft, no longer looking like he was trying to crash right into the broadside at the highest possible speeds. 

Over the com link, Anzu suggested that they go out to see the drama club’s play. The dedicated Shakespeare fans among the students were putting on a version of _The Tempest_.

When the crafts landed, Kaiba was planning on making a bee-line for somewhere—anywhere—else. He had been trained in some forms of the ancient art of Kormerek, and people tended to clear out of the martial arts training holo-chambers when he entered.

But there was Mokuba, in the docking bay, holding a clean, casual outfit of his—a navy blue jacket with metallic piping and matching pants. “A night at the theatre!” Mokuba smiled warmly, holding out the outfit for inspection. He was wearing a matching one, in a deep plum color. 

Kaiba looked at his brother, examining him slowly.

“I need friends, too, y’know,” Mokuba said, pushing the clothes at his brother. 

Kaiba accepted the outfit. “Do you know why they have invited us?”

“I’m not gonna over think it. And I recommend you don’t either, _ravsam_. The twins have telepathic abilities, maybe the sensed that we could use some fun!” Kaiba nodded curtly. In a way, he had his orders: shut up. On the scale of sacrifices Kaiba could make for his brother, one amateur production of an earth show didn’t seem too terrible.

. . .

“The Bolian Prospero wasn’t half bad,” Tristan laughed, “but I don’t know that the Andorian Caliban was a great call. I’m just saying, y’know, aesthetically, half the cast was blue!”

“Hey! We’re the Federation—we’re supposed to think beyond type-casting different races!” Anzu argued. Her hair was arranged in a complex lattice forming something akin to a beehive.

Tristan raised his hands defensively, “Ayy! I know! That’s why I didn’t comment on having a Tellurite play Ariel. It’s a bold move, but I think that worked.”

“Ehh, I can’t keep up with that old Earth English anyway,” Jou shrugged, “Gets funky in the translator, makes it that much harder to follow.”

Mokuba chirped in, “But even so, I though the set design was awesome! They really were able to use holograms to great effect, and made the storm feel _sooo_ real!” 

Yugi and Yami exchanged an intense glance before turning back out to the group.

“Care to share?” Anzu prodded.

Yugi smiled brightly, “I liked it! It was mostly pretty intense, I guess. But I love pretty much any academy production of Shakespeare. Everyone involved is very emotionally invested, and having a great time. It feels nice just to go.” 

Yami nodded.

The group looked at Kaiba, waiting for his feedback. “Caliban was an interesting character. The Andorian was fine.”

Yami raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“You can read my mind, why bother asking?” Kaiba shot back.

“Trust me, when you’re around, we are trying our best _not_ to read your mind,” Yami said. His voice was deep and dead pan. 

“To be fair, trying to block out negative psychic energy is an ongoing project for us, and having you here has given us great practice!” Yugi added.

Mokuba burst out laughing. “Well I’m glad we can be helpful!”

“Anyone wanna grab a bite to eat?” Jou suggested.

“I think we’ve provided enough negative psychic energy for one night. Let’s go, Mokuba.” Kaiba smirked, but something in his eyes was earnestly bitter. Mokuba laughed and followed his brother’s about face back to the dorms. When they were about twenty paces out, Mokuba turned around and stuck his tongue out, to the entertainment of the remaining group.

. . .

It was always the same nightmare. Green blood on almond hands, leaking off of the knife, Gozab’s uniform stained, and Kaiba completely frozen. He jolted up in bed, trying to steady his breathing. He pulled on his warmest jacket before going to wander the city streets. 

He didn’t mean to go straight to the bay. Kaiba had made the conscious choice to wander into the city proper, stalking down Market Street, looking up at the impossibly tall buildings, those weaving ant trails of shuttletraffic through the sky. He had intended to let the neon colors bounce off this eyes, but all of that energy was too much. All of the people, rushing through work or laughing through evenings out—it was entirely too much. 

Like a magnet, like part of the ocean itself, Kaiba was drawn back to the edge of the bay. He looked across it, admiring the outline of the headlands against the soft grey of the light polluted sky. The Golden Gate bridge stood exactly as it had for the last few hundred years, two rust colored perfectly preserved towers and those long concave arches between them. For the first time, Kaiba had the urge to walk on the bridge.

After all, the bridge was open to the public 24 hours a day, though there were forcefields around it to contain anyone who might’ve been trying to jump.

Kaiba was shocked how intense the wind was—it whipped his hair up from his forehead and into the air around him with every harsh gust. He felt almost like he was being taken up into the air with it. 

The knowledge that beneath the firm ground of the ancient road was just air and ocean was intoxicating and freeing in the strangest way. 

Even with his jacket, his face was cold, his nose near frozen off by those icy night winds and that constant mist. But it didn’t bother him much. 

His brooding was interrupted by a genuine affection he felt for the city as he looked back at the neat street lines of the Sunset District, the dense block of trees and darker academy buildings in the Presidio foreground. The Palace of Fine Arts—a little pink dome illuminated brightly. The rows and rows of towering sky scrapers. 

He spared a brief thought for Federation Headquarters. He wondered if the blood that ran through his veins could still be Romulan if he gazed upon their building with something nearing peace. He wondered if he was betraying his forefathers.

But he shook his head and let himself be whipped by the wind again. He would not dwell on the past: it was ephemeral. The Romulus he was ordered to be loyal to was long since devoured by heat and light. Everything that he had learned to obey, to love, was gone.

Kaiba was not a man to be trapped in the past. He’d outrun a supernova. The only thing that could ever stop him was himself.

“Oi! You really shouldn’t be out this far! Yer gonna freeze to death!”

Maybe not quite the only thing.

Kaiba turned his gaze to the blond Bajoran, wrapped in a large, cozy scarf and a thick jacket. His usually messy hair was ruffled by the wind too.

“I go where I please,” Kaiba announced, louder than normal so that he could be heard over the wind.

Jou threaded his arm around Kaiba’s. “Well that’s fine then—I’m a little cold if you aren’t.” Jou raised his other hand to Kaiba’s cheek, brushing his thumb over a high cheekbone.

“Prophets! Are you made of ICE?!” Jou bounced off. 

“I am not,” Kaiba said, “Are you this touchy with all your friends?”

Jou raised his hands to furiously rub at Kaiba’s cheeks to warm them up. They tinged with a green blush almost instantly.

“HA! You called yourself my friend!” Jou smiled his biggest “gotcha” grin. 

Kaiba looked away. With a quick swat of his hand, he would have easily been able to end Jou’s ministrations. But it felt nice, and Kaiba was in no mood to deny himself access to any heat. 

“That’s better!” Jou smiled victoriously. Kaiba nodded serenely and began to walk across the bridge again. They passed under the second tower together. “Nice out here, huh?”

“I didn’t mean to become so approachable,” Kaiba said, trying to kill Jou’s pride in his handiwork.

“Eh, I saw you shivering like a dipshit without a jacket, saw you do whateva Mokuba asks, saw ya get real invested in _Shakespeare_ —of all boring-ass human things—so what can I say? The mystery’s wearing off a little,” Jou counted out Kaiba’s relatable moments on his fingers, “But I still got some questions.”

Kaiba rolled his eyes, but did nothing to prevent his body from edging closer to Jou to capture more of his heat.

“Why Starfleet? Why aren’t ya out there on New Romulus? Makin’ babies or stabbin’ folks or whatever it is that Romulans do?”

Kaiba took a second to consider Jou’s face. His eyes were a warm caramel in the yellow-tinged lighting on the bridge. His smile was warm, only a little inquisitive. His hair spun in the wind, revealing his thick eyebrows and putting his ceremonial earring on full display. 

The smaller man was so close. Kaiba couldn’t believe anyone would want to be that close to him. Kaiba had been trained in hundreds of ways to kill him at this distance. More than that, no one had asked him why he was interested in Starfleet, except Mokuba. It felt strange to tell an outsider his and Mokuba’s plan. But the night air was already so intimate—and they had the whole bridge to themselves. Just them, those city lights, the old road, and the bay splashing onyx in the night.

“I will be the Praetor of New Romulus, one day. But the fate of the Romulan people is now tied to the Federation,” the truth bit at Kaiba’s tongue, stilting his voice even though he’d entertained Mokuba with this rant dozens of times. “Within my generation, people will realize the reliance that we have on the Federation. I caught on early, of course. But soon even those backwards people will see that the Romulan Star Empire died with our star.”

“I’m sorry about that, I guess,” Jou leaned in, closing the final gap, and looping an arm around Kaiba’s. He hadn’t expected Kaiba to slow his pace in order to walk in tandem with him, but Kaiba’s steps decelerated to match his.

“Don’t be,” Kaiba said with a harsh pause. “But, even you can see, once the population catches on a little more, I’ll be perfectly positioned to be the Ambassador. Noble-raised heir to the Commander of the Tal Shiar and a high-ranking officer of Starfleet. From Ambassador to Senator is an easy jump. Praetors are—”

“Elected by the Senate! I rememba that!” Jou answered the prompt enthusiastically. 

Kaiba nodded.

“I see yer plan. Makes enough sense. Ya gonna ask me why I chose Starfleet?” Jou tilted his head over, resting his ear against Kaiba’s shoulder.

“Unlike you, I don’t try to draw out people’s personal information.” Kaiba sounded more wistful than stoic.

“Ha, fine, I’ll tell ya anyway.” Kaiba could feel the muscles of Jou’s cheeks pressing into his jacket as Jou’s smile expanded. “People tend ta assume stuff about Bajorans in Starfleet, y’know. Like we all have the same story: that I was liberated by Starfleet Officers, then saw the prophet in the Captain’s uniform, and I called it a day. But it wasn’t quite that straightforward.”

Kaiba nodded. The bridge only had another fifty feet left before they would arrive in the vista lookout lot.

“I met the Federation forces when I was in the resistance cell. I was not amazed just at how nice they were, or whatever—for the record, some of ‘em were asshats—but they had so much _stuff_. And I’d gone my whole life without anything, y’know?!”

“I know,” Kaiba echoed. Jou stopped for a second, considering whether he ought to follow up on it, before determining that he needed to finish his own story first. 

“And it wasn’t like I could go back to some sort a civilian work. I was only in the resistance cell a few months, but I wasn’t about to go work on a farm. I convinced an officer that I had relatives on Deep Space Nine, and hustled my way to Earth from there. Once I landed in the city, the lies became pretty obvious, but social services out here ain’t half-bad and to make a long story short—here I am!”

“I have no interest in owning a farm on New Romulus,” Kaiba commented. Jou could have sworn the man was making conversation with him.

“Yeah! And on Bajor? Everything’s fucking dead. Cardassians are real salt-the-earth assholes, to borrow an Earthly turn of phrase.” 

Arm in arm, they reached the end of the bridge and turned into the vista point. It was a small, paved pad, surrounded by a stone fence, which provided a perfect view of the city. Kaiba was distracted by how entrancing Jou’s silhouette was against the city. Jou was equally taken with the reflection of the city lights off of Kaiba’s eyes.

“Since we’re not moving anymore, yer about to get real cold,” Jou announced as he unwound his heavy scarf. “This’ll help.”

Kaiba stood still as Jou wrapped the scarf around his neck. The warmth made him blush instantly, and the angled tips of his ears flushed green. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken care of him like this, but it felt warm and soft, and smelled of lemongrass and foreign spices. 

“Why are you doing this?” Kaiba asked, grasping for his own abrasiveness. It sounded much more vulnerable, much more genuinely confused, than he had intended.

“Is it a crime to try and get ta know your teammate?” Jou asked, trying to add some humor to his voice. “And man, it’s not like I come out here lookin’ for ya, but it’s 3 am and yer wandering alone. Yer whole mission thing sounds cool and all, but ya look a little lost.”

“You’re out here too,” Kaiba said in rebuttal.

“Yeah, cause I’m a little lost too,” Jou answered, “We’re both pretty far from home, I guess.”

Kaiba looked at him with empathy. If the lighting at the point had been better, Kaiba wouldn’t have let the feeling etch its way across his pointed brows. But the darkness felt like a suitably private place to mourn.

Once they were off the bridge, the wind had died down. Kaiba moved to release his arm and straighten his own hair. They’d have to walk back, but he’d deal with it then. Jou didn’t seem to mind how windswept his blond strands had become.

“Hey, I wanna try!” Jou moved Kaiba’s hands away from his forehead to fix his hair. Kaiba couldn’t believe it, but he let the Bajoran have free reign. 

Jou leaned onto his tip-toes to fully access Kaiba’s hair, long black strands jutting in every direction. He moved his hands gently, softly tapping down all of the wayward pieces.

After he completed his task, Jou remained with his hands on Kaiba’s face.

“Has anyone ever kissed you?” Jou asked, his brow furrowing slightly, creasing against his nose ridges. His earring twinkled in the city lights.

Kaiba took a second to inhale, nervous energy pooling in his gut. He made intentional, forceful eye contact. 

“No,” Kaiba said firmly. 

Jou smiled a little. “Would you like to change that?”

Kaiba was sure his entire face was forest green from the intensity of his blush.

“Yes,” Kaiba answered.

Jou rested his arms against Kaiba’s shoulders and pushed up, into the kiss. As expected, the Romulan’s lips were all but frozen from the chilly air, but they were also softer than he had anticipated. Jou felt a closeness, instantly, and he brought himself further in.

For Kaiba’s part, he wrapped an arm around Jou’s lower back and pulled him in tighter, pressing their chests together. Despite his inexperience, his instincts drove him to pull closer. He absorbed the warmth immediately, and as Jou sustained the kiss, Kaiba felt himself generate more heat as well.

Jou felt like he was melting into Kaiba. Although he wasn’t abandoning his own strength, the intense grip that Kaiba had on him was intoxicating. He felt so precious in his strong hands. It was like half of Kaiba was protecting him, and the other half was devouring him. Jou could feel all of the force and all of the tension grasping at him—just barely restrained. It was damn sexy.

Jou released him for a second, just to come up for air.

“Any good?” he asked, a pink flush covering his own cheeks as he caught his breath.

Kaiba had the tiniest, most genuine smile Jou had ever seen. The look in his blue eyes was so soft, affectionate and innocent, Kaiba looked years younger. “Yes. But I think I will need to more thoroughly test—” 

Jou shut him up with another kiss. 

It morphed into something even hotter when Jou opened his mouth and Kaiba confidently plunged his tongue in, exploring every sensation like it was brand new.

Jou steered their bodies to a bench and pushed Kaiba down lightly. Jou moved to straddle hip, knees on the wood of the bench, torsos pressed together, hips aligned. 

Kaiba made a most unexpected whine from under him, bucking into the growing pressure and clawing at Jou’s back. Jou moved away from the kiss and began to pepper little pecks along his jawline.

“I… I want more, but,” Kaiba whispered, and Jou stopped instantly, “My face is really cold.” 

Jou burst into laughter in his lap.

“And we still have to walk home, so…” 

Jou dismounted from Kaiba with only a little sadness, and they began the long trek back in companionable silence. Before they were even on the bridge, Jou wove his fingers into Kaiba’s. 

At Kaiba’s dorm, Kaiba took the initiative, leaning down to press a good night kiss chastely into Jou’s forehead. 

. . .


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jou needs to talk to his friends about this new development.   
> . . .   
> AKA Everyone (mostly) communicates effectively.

“So. Maybe I am a little attracted to Kaiba,” Jou announced as he walked into Tristan and Anzu’s holoprogram. He was wearing his academy uniform with no respect for the period piece that the others were playing. He leaned against a cabinet of holographic porcelain curios and fixed his gaze on the replica moorland of Yorkshire visible through the glass.

Anzu fixed her hands on her hips, coming to rest on the boning of her hoop skirt. “You’re _what now_?!”

One of the non-player characters burst through a wooden door and whined “ _Heathcliff!_ ” 

“Computer, pause program,” Tristan said, and the figure stopped suddenly, hand frozen over her ruffled bosom.

“KAIBA?!” Anzu’s eyes threatened to jump from her sockets. 

Jou’s eyes continued to scan the moor. “Ya said I should make friends with ‘im.”

“JOU! We’ve been friends for how long now?” Anzu rushed over, pulling up the beige laced skirts as she went to confront him.

“Three years—” He tried to look away, but she grabbed him by the helix of his ear.

“Yes, three years and you _still_ don’t seem to know what ‘friendship’ means. Friendship is companionship, mutual support, caring.” She pulled at his ear. “ _It is not falling for every single deeply troubled person on campus_.”

Tristan walked over, further boxing Jou in.

“Man, come on!” Tristan said. He looked less mad and more disappointed in his matching brown waistcoat and historically-accurate trousers. “You said you weren’t gonna do this.” His voice was pleading.

Anzu dropped his ear and Jou took a resigned exhale. “We just… he’s into me too. We kissed. Kinda a lot actually.”

“What?!” His friends said in tandem.

“Nothing further just…” Jou shrugged. “He’d never been kissed, didja know that? And we were by the Golden Gate Bridge and talking about real stuff, like _real_ real stuff. And uhh…”

“How was it?” Anzu asked, rage dissipating as quickly as it had been summoned.

Jou blushed pink and ran a hand through his messy hair. “Actually really nice. His lips were… soft and he’s really… strong, I dunno.” 

“Oh my god,” Tristan whined at the ceiling and strung out the “d.”

“So, are you guys dating now?” Anzu followed up.

Jou looked back out to the foggy simulation. “Well, surprise, we didn’t talk about that. I’m pretty sure we’re exclusive cause he’s definitely not seein’ anyone else.”

“Oh my god,” Tristan took his head in his hands and aimed his anguish at the ground. His pitch increased noticeably.

Anzu shook her head. “You have to have the talk, Jou. It’s not just a question of cheating. Have you guys had a decent interaction with him, other than I guess meeting up at night?”

Jou bit his lip.

Tristan walked into the holographic wall and began to knock his head into it. “Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.”

“Technically, we’ve been playin nice during practice? And he didn’t say anything mean at the play?” Jou half-smiled, knowing his argument wasn’t a winner.

Tristan paused in his self-flagellation. “He literally said like four sentences—and half them were about leaving!”

Jou scratched at the back of his head. “I guess we’ll see what happens at practice?”

Anzu put her hand on Jou’s shoulder, the silk of the large bell sleeves running against his uniform. “You really know how to pick them,” she said solemnly.

. . .

If anything, the practice was slightly improved. For the most part, Kaiba stayed off the comms and conducted his own maneuvers when possible. Jou held up his side of the bargain too—twirling and diving impressively, but without any conflict with Seto. All things considered, from where Anzu was flying, they looked more like they were avoiding each other than that they’d gotten any closer.

Jou, as Captain, gave instructions for next week: it was time for them to stop refining their individual skills. They had four weeks until the Rigel Cup. 

The competition was separated into three events: individual speed runs (which awarded individual medals as well as a metal for the team totals), a mock battle scenario, and a group routine. Points were awarded for difficulty and quality of execution as well as artistic merit. In recent years, the group routines had become increasingly flashy and complex. 

Jou realized he was leaving it to the last minute to finish hammering out their routine. They had a number of maneuvers down already, and individually it was clear everyone was capable of performing almost anything in the Federation library. The team was rough around the edges, but hardly lacking in talent.

Kaiba, on his return flight from just past Titan, put in a rare word to suggest, “It’s been decades since anyone attempted the Kolvoord Starburst.” In true Romulan fashion, the words themselves were unadorned but invited only trouble.

“Um… hasn’t that maneuver killed six cadets, got one expelled, and four others lost their credits for the year?” Anzu snapped.

“The tech we have now is leagues ahead of what they were working with. The Vulcans would never dare attempt it.” Kaiba added. The rare extra sentences indicated it wasn’t a joke.

“Yeah, none of us are particularly eager to die, so as Captain, I’m gonna order us to not do that!” Jou said, suppressing a laugh. “Any other suggestions, preferably without a body count?”

“I will admit, I always thought it’d be kind of cool to do a Yaeger loop!” Yugi volunteered.

“Alright, we can work with that,” Jou said, “Last call?”

“Are you at all familiar with the _thrai_ maneuver?” Kaiba asked. He sounded as commanding as ever.

Yami chirped in over the comm from where he was doing another turn around the moon, “Never heard of it.”

“It’s a show-maneuver from the Empire. It’s based on an animal from the homeworld, something like an Earth-fox, but about twenty feet tall. It’s wholly impractical in battle, but it’s beautiful in space.”

The comms were silent for a long time. Jou was the first to speak up, “Let’s talk about it more. Over dinner.”

Kaiba answered, “affirmative,” as he cruised past Mars.

Somewhere, in the yards of Utopia Planitia, Tristan Taylor was listening on the comm and flipping out.

. . .

The replicated plate of Romulan Jumbo Mollusk steamed and was stinking up the common room for the dorm that Tristan and Jou shared. Jou swallowed thickly. He had once announced that he’d eat anything, as long as it wouldn’t kill him. He wanted to retract that announcement very much.

Some of the juices trailed across the table as Kaiba shoveled a decent portion of it onto his plate. “Less fragrant than it is when it’s not replicated,” Kaiba noted. 

Jou nodded. He prodded at it with a Romulan utensil that was—in his opinion—a glorified spork. A spurt of juices erupted from the platter. 

“So, would you care to discuss the routine for the Rigel Cup, or did you propose dinner for selfish reasons?” Kaiba asked before taking another bite of the mollusk. 

If Jou wasn’t already choking on his bite of mollusk, that comment would have been enough to get it stuck in his throat. 

After his coughing subsided, Jou blinked for a few moments and asked, “Was that… Did you just flirt with me?”

Kaiba shrugged one shoulder, “It was one such attempt. Considering it almost killed you, I suppose I need more practice.”

“No, no it was fine!” Jou smiled, “I kinda thought… I didn’t know if you’d feel the same way in the daytime, I guess.”

Kaiba looked at the blue-ish grey slop. “I do not waste my time on things that are not genuine. Did I miscalculate the nature of our relationship?”

Abandoning is plate, Jou fixed his full attention on his partner’s icy eyes. “I don’t think so. I guess it’s just kinda fast? I didn’t think you could stand me.”

Kaiba looked straight into Jou’s eyes with something very close to sadness. “I have been alone for a very long time.”

Jou smirked, “I’ve seen ya with yer shirt off, I can’t be the first one ta ever express romantic interest in ya.”

“That is true. But you’re the first one I’ve had reason to trust.” Kaiba shook his head dismissively. “It doesn’t matter. Would you like to hear how I plan to defeat the Vulcans this year?”

Jou nodded and rose from his spot across the table to sit closer to Kaiba. He handed the taller boy the PADD and rested his head against Kaiba’s sharp shoulder.

. . .

“So… the Bajoran?” Mokuba proffered around a mouthful of viinerine.

A sigh heaved in Kaiba’s chest. 

“You plan to take him as your mate?” Mokuba asked while continuing to chew.

Kaiba couldn’t make eye contact or bear to bite into the viinerine. “It is too soon to tell. We’ve settled into this Federation ritual known as ‘dating.’”

Mokuba laughed so hard he lost control of the meaty strands. When he finally regained his composure, he asked, “And how’s that going, _ravsam_?”

Kaiba rose to put his dish in the recycler. “It feels… nice, Mokuba.” And with that, he withdrew to spend the afternoon in his shuttlecraft.

. . .

Jou was getting his ass handed to him in 3-D chess for the third time that afternoon when Yugi finally broached the subject.

“We would never stop you from making your own decisions,” Yugi started, his famous peacekeeping on full display.

Jou moved his pawn up a level, resting on a square of frosted glass. “But ya don’t approve a Kaiba, or whatever.” Jou was waiting for the talk.

“It’s not an issue of approval.” Yami added. He was standing behind Yugi, and obviously guiding him through the game over their mental link. They had a near-perfect pattern—Yami was the strategist and Yugi was the diplomat. Together they were a force of nature. 

Originally, they had been one perfectly adequate Betazoid teen, the grandchild of an intergalactic games retailer that specialized in the rare and exotic. When beaming down from a transport back to the surface of Betazed, one of the games—a golden pyramid puzzle with a haunting icon of an eye—caused interference in the buffer. 

As a result of the transporter accident, Yugi had been split in two: his docile half and his so-called “darker” half. Rather than sacrifice the other Yugi for the sake of condensing the two, Yugi opted to continue to live in separate bodies. Yami selected his name after careful consideration, to honor the parts of Yugi that he had started as, as well as to acknowledge his own being.

The transition was a bit odd, but it brought out the best in both of them. Where Yugi had been only a mediocre telepath and an average child, as separate units Yugi had the space to explore himself more fully, and the other Yugi had the capacity to grow and change. Together, they had the strongest telepathic bond ever recorded between Betazoids, owing to their shared personage and brain waves. Their bond could resonate across vast distances and through any material that they were separated by in laboratory tests. They were also able to score impossibly high on Starfleet aptitude tests. 

They let people assume they were twins to save time and clarification. And in a way, it was true. They had certainly started life as one egg—and now they were two.

And when they worked together? They never lost a game. 

“Check!” Yugi announced as he knocked over Jou’s pawn with a bishop that he pulled down from the third level. 

“Gahh…” Jou muttered, refocusing on the floating buttresses of the board. 

“It’s just that Kaiba has a lot going on, you know? And his emotional regulation is… not the best,” Yugi said, itching at the back of his own neck.

“And mine is?” Jou’s hand hovered over a knight on the very top level.

“You are not brimming with hate. He’s so overcome with loathing, it’s like it’s dripping on the floor when he walks in the room,” Yami placed his hand on Yugi’s shoulder. 

Jou finally moved his knight, intercepting the path between his king and Yugi’s bishop.

“Isn’t that sorta a Romulan thing, though?” Jou asked.

Yami nodded half-heartedly. “Species like that, who recently lost their telepathic powers, are sometimes more potent to races that have maintained psychic awareness. But Jou—”

Jou looked him straight in his intense purple eyes. Yami’s were ringed with black kohl and had a delicate design near his lower lashes.

“Some people have not processed enough of their own problems to be ready to be good partners. We tell you this only because we want you to be aware of what you are dealing with,” Yami said.

“I think I know who I’m dealing with.” Jou huffed.

“Checkmate!” Yugi chirped.

. . .

The _thrai_ maneuver was beautiful: starting like the five points of a star, the shuttlecrafts would glide forward in long helical swirls about one another before streaming past each other in a crisscross and jettisoning a bit of fuel before igniting it. The delay made is substantially safer than the notorious Korvoold maneuver, as well as the distance between each ship during the fuel discharge. It was flashy, impressive, and just a little edgy—like Jou liked it.

The only problem with using it as a capstone move was that final spark. Jou’s heart pulsed in his ears each time he watched the simulation on the screen.

They would complete all sorts of other moves that he could do in his sleep first: start in the diamond slot formation for a Yager Loop and Immelman Turn—in honor of the fallen Nova Squadron of years past. Then they hand a Yuzuru barrel roll—which involved a steep bank—and a Trine maneuver where three of the crafts would hold a pattern while the other two weaved through them.

As the captain, he could overrule the suggestion, or keep the helix’s and forget the theatrics. But as a person who was truly committed to doing the best he could do, even at a steep personal cost, Jou couldn’t resist.

But that last blast was scaring the shit out of him prematurely. He shouldn’t have been afraid of it yet—he’d have plenty of time for that in practices. 

If exposure therapy was the trick to getting over things, the many practices ahead of him would surely shake Jou of his fear. That pointless, unreasonable…

The sea mist smacked him in the face, bringing him back to the rocky crag that he was perched on. He was wearing an old outfit—warm navy sweatpants, his red corduroy jacket, a plain white undershirt. The breeze ruffled his dirty blond hair a little. 

He looked out over the bay for the millionth time. He couldn’t be mad at himself, not when those waves were lapping at the rocks so steadily. With that bright crescent moon—blooming with colonies of the Federation. 

With the soothing knowledge that those demanding foot steps behind him could belong to only one man.

“You do not look very happy,” Kaiba announced with his typical tact.

“Ace detective work,” Jou sighed, “Ya ever get tired a’ being an interplanetary genius?”

Kaiba completed his approach, standing about two feet away from Jou, just off of the big rock. “Then why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Since when do you care?” Jou sounded more disaffected than Kaiba was expecting.

Kaiba stretched, trying in vain to straighten his back further. “I—” Kaiba inhaled, eyes bugging slightly. “Part of this _thing we’re doing_ is that you attempt to take care of my emotional wellbeing. If you don’t want me to return the favor, just tell me!” Kaiba’s phrasing was so careful, but he sounded like he was on the edge of livid.

Jou laughed. “I’m just overthinin’ things. And I’m tired.” Part of him hesitated, wanting to open-up about his problem with the routine. Jou really didn’t try to be closed off with people he cared about. But he also had no interest in putting his own turmoil on others.

Jou could only foresee two possible paths: one—Kaiba would not mind that the routine needed to change because Jou spooked at explosions. This seemed pretty impossible and would force him to share his greatest weakness with the man. Even as romantic partners, Jou wasn’t ready for that vulnerability. Even his closest friends didn’t know about the explosion. It hadn’t come up, and most born into Federation privilege had enough tact to know better than to as someone who had grown up under the Cardassian’s thumb to recount their trauma. 

The other path was that Kaiba would see that weakness in it’s sharpest light. Kaiba appeared pretty intolerant of any weakness. Even if Kaiba didn’t break up with him, it would be the end of whatever tiny window existed where Kaiba would see Jou as an _equal_. Jou had been fighting hard to that status. While Jou wasn’t sure Kaiba could see anyone as his equal, it meant so much to Jou that one day he would. The light of Kaiba’s recognition or approval was something Jou craved, even if he didn’t have the words for it yet, or even a good reason why. It was stupid to want validation from the other man, especially since he was so keen on withholding it. But Jou couldn’t control that desire.

So instead he went on—straight-faced and glaring at the glittering city lights against the mostly tranquil bay.

Warm hands with long, somewhat delicate fingers wrapped around his waist, and he was dislodged from his spot on the grey rock. 

“Hey! I was broodin’ ova’ here! Ya don’t have a monopoly for staring into space, ya know!” Jou squirmed as he was heaved off of the rock.

“Sure,” Kaiba said, pretending to drop him before settling him into the tall grass. It was damp with overnight dew and smelled fresh and lush.

Kaiba climbed over him on his hands and knees. His face was tantalizingly close, their noses almost touching.

“I don’t want to watch you brood any more. And you don’t want to tell me what’s wrong. So there’s only one solution available,” Kaiba leaned down to kiss him playfully. Like the last time it was warm, sweet, and just a little restrained. Like Kaiba was holding something back.

“Alright, tactical genius, what’s this, then?” Jou smiled, echoing the smirk on Kaiba’s face as he hovered over Jou.

“Distraction. I was hoping we’d be able to continue our experim—”

Jou took over, pushing his neck up from the grass to kiss the words out of Kaiba’s mouth. Even though a pebble was stuck in his hair, and Kaiba really tasted like that Jumbo Mollusk again, it felt comforting. Like walking into a sunroom. Everything felt ambiently better with the way Kaiba’s lips pressed into his, the way Kaiba moved to thread his hand in Jou’s hair. The way Kaiba lowered his hips to meet Jou’s, sending a lighting bold of pleasure—like plasma rushing through a conduit—through Jou. 

Jou deepened the kiss—and it was quickly apparent that Kaiba had hoped he would, opening his mouth compliantly, grinding his hips down again, grasping desperately at the nape of Jou’s neck. Jou could feel the Romulan coming apart. The control and discipline melting with him into the grass, becoming desperate and animalistic. 

It was fun to make out with Kaiba, Jou decided. Each time it felt like he was unlocking new levels. Last time, he had unlocked affectionate Kaiba—a man who treasured the way that Jou made him feel. This time, he’d unlocked hungry Kaiba—a fierce warrior who was fighting with himself not to take Jou then and there in the grass.

Jou thought for a second about their vulnerable position. Sure, anyone could stroll up and see them, rolling in the grass, distracted by their own ecstasy. But they’d have to be out, at 3:30 a.m. on a Tuesday night. And, after all, San Francisco had certainly seen worse.

Jou was entirely surprised when this layer of Kaiba decided to switch to nipping. A soft kiss at the shell of his ear turned into a sharp little bite. A long kiss at his jawline was punctuated by another one. Kaiba growled into Jou’s neck before sucking a large mark that would surely stain him purple for days. It felt possessive, and a little feral, and Jou couldn’t help himself but the scratch at Kaiba’s back and buck upwards for more.

The friction was divine—except for one note. Jou hadn’t thought this all the way through, but the if the bulge in his pants was anything to go by, the tall Romulan felt huge. Unnecessarily, perhaps unhelpfully large. Jou had never looked into Romulan dicks before, for a number of reasons, but he was vaguely familiar with friends who had stories. Tristan had apparently hooked up with a Vulcan male who had been on the Titan station when his first Pon Farr had hit. Brave, noble, and very pansexual, Tristan returned from the experience with stories. The two hadn’t bonded, but to this day, whenever the topic of R’yoogi came up, Tristan blushed instantly.

Jou was a bold adventurer too in that domain, but he certainly wasn’t going to test it out in the grass, with no lubricant. Even though the friction felt so insanely good, and Kaiba looked like he was about to tear Jou’s jacket off with his teeth.

“We should prolly take this back ta my dorm,” Jou announced, looking up to the stars, before he felt Kaiba’s mouth on the outside of his pants and his good sense disappeared. The added heat and warmth over his sensitive dick was too much, and it really had been too long. 

Jou looked down, and he determined he would commit that visual to memory: Kaiba’s intense blue eyes simmering with lust under sharp angled eyebrows and those long neat strands of black hair forming the traditional “V” between those eyes, while his mouth toyed with the outside of his pants. 

“I’d really like to take you right now,” Kaiba’s breath was hot over the dampened pants. The combination of saliva and precum made the whole situation a bit wet, and the cold air coming off of the bay combined to form an intense new sensation. “If that’s okay with you?” It was the most diplomatic Kaiba had ever sounded. And then Kaiba stretched out his tongue and licked over the fly.

Jou hadn’t had much good sense to begin with anyway. His best friends were a transporter accident, a horn dog, and the friendship police. His favorite hobby was flying at high speed in weird and somewhat dangerous ways. And at the end of the day, aren’t all Starfleet Officers here for a good time, not a long time?

“Oh god yes,” Jou muttered as Kaiba unzipped him with his teeth. Once his dick was free, Kaiba made a guttural noise that Jou realized was purring. The vibrations continued as he took him in one go. Jou couldn’t believe how warm and intense the sensation was, need building in his stomach, his hands moving to Kaiba’s hair, gripping him roughly.

Kaiba’s determination more than made up for his inexperience, as he took Jou so deep that he could feel the ridges at the roof of his mouth against his cock. When Jou jerked his hand at the intensity of the sensation, Kaiba moaned on his dick. It did not surprise Jou one bit that he would be into pain. The vibrations felt amazing on Jou’s dick, and embarrassingly quickly he came down Kaiba’s throat.

Jou lay back, completely spellbound, breathing heavily and staring up at the moon.

Kaiba tucked him back in and heaved himself to lie next to his partner. 

“You sure that was your first time?” Jou asked, almost to the stars.

“I assure you, I am a quick study.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter than the last one, but I wanted to continue this one and... yeah I have no excuses.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparations for the Rigel Cup continue to get heated.

Soaring past Saturn was Jou’s favorite part of being on Nova Squadron. He could do it any time he wanted—just grab his designated shuttlecraft, file a quick flight report, and like a shot he was off-world. Nothing between him and the farthest reaches of the galaxy besides a few inches of metal and his own sense of responsibility. The views were incredible—those iridescent rings bouncing light into the view screen. The marbles of moons slipping in and out of view, some heavy with unmanned mining equipment. 

And the speed—even without using the craft’s warp, he could never get over that sensation. The starfield moving and adjusting, as if responding to his manipulation of the craft. 

Helices were not particularly difficult moves in and of themselves. Just an extended barrel roll, spread out over a matter of parsecs.

Coordinating five vessels in their separate but flawless twists was significantly more difficult.

“By the prophets, Anzu, if you don’t keep your distance, I’m gonna run into you,” Jou challenged over the comms, fingers glued to the controls, knuckles bulging out of his skin.

“I wouldn’t be drifting if Tristan hadn’t left the plasma converter unbalanced,” Anzu shot back as she compensated for the drift.

“Hey, don’t bring me into this!” Tristan answered, introducing the static of soldering to the comm channel as he briefly came off of mute.

Kaiba’s twirl accelerated just barely, but Jou recognized a spiteful move when he saw it. “Get back here, you’re gonna throw us all off time!” Jou shouted back.

“It’s not my fault you can’t keep up,” Kaiba said before accelerating substantially more, and finishing off the move, and dropping his fuel.

“This was yer dumb idea!! It’s supposed ta be synchronized!!” Jou shouted over the comms and sped up to catch up with him, ignoring the way the g-forces pulled at his hips as he twirled that much quicker.

At the designated meet up point, Jou had trained his eyes away from the view screen so he wouldn’t have to see the explosion. The last three points of the star rolled in, and dashed off, and Yami ignited the pile.

The crackle make Jou’s heart leap, but he kept his hands gripped tightly on his knees and his mic on mute, so that his heavy breathing wouldn’t rattle through the cockpits of his teammates.

The resulting explosion was smaller than it was supposed to be, since the fuel alignment wasn’t quite right, and the pile failed to ignite properly.

“I’ll go in and set it off, so we don’t leave it there,” Yami announced. Jou thought of telling him “God please don’t,” but his voice was already insufficiently tame, the panic and bile in his throat already threatening to escape, and he couldn’t do it.

Yami reset it, and the boom that remained was small, tame, unassuming.

“Trust me, when it ignites properly it looks much cooler,” Kaiba said over the comm, sounding disappointed.

“I can imagine!” Yugi said, sunshine drifting through everyone’s headsets.

“Back to Earth,” Jou bit out. He hoped that he tension in his voice sounded like he was going to tear into Kaiba for the stunt, and not expose his phobia.

. . .

Jou stepped out of the Black Dragon with every intention of kicking Kaiba’s entire ass.

He was surprised to find Yugi already standing next to the shuttle door with a warning look in his doe-eyes. 

“Be careful,” Yugi advised in his most peaceful tone. Yami was a few steps behind due to the distant parking spot for the Puzzle Master.

“We’re going to go,” Yami announced, placing his hand on Yugi’s shoulder. Yugi shot a final imploring look at Jou before following his partner’s order.

Anzu was smart enough to clear the shuttlebay without a parting message. Which left Jou and Kaiba to stare each other down.

Kaiba was the first to approach. His walking was as imperial as could be, and somehow even more presumptuous.

Jou’s hand curled into a fist as he approached, instinctively. The haughty bastard really was going to pretend that he had done nothing wrong. Even though it was _Kaiba_ that broke formation, and _Kaiba_ the jettisoned the fuel too soon so that there had to be two explosions instead of the singular that Jou was prepared for. It was always _Kaiba_ , getting just under his skin. 

“What the fuck was that?!” Jou spouted as soon as Kaiba got within spitting distance.

“The team was out of formation already. Anzu lacked complete control of her vessel; she said so over the comms.” Kaiba was infuriatingly calm except for a few little tells— his jaw clenched like a nutcracker and his eyes were blue fire, like the sort that come out of propane torches.

“And what? Ya didn’t trust her to compensate? Ya didn’t think that the rest a’ us could keep it together long enough to finish the fucking maneuver?” Jou hated the way his voice was wavering, from the effects of the explosion. He was trying to be angry and in any other setting he wouldn’t be threatening to break down this way.

“No, I—”

Jou took a deep breath and slowed his speaking. “Why are you even on this team, Kaiba?! Do you think that you’re the only person here who can fly a goddamn shuttle craft?”

Kaiba rushed out his answer, “I’m the only one who can fly one well.”

“No. No yer fucking not. Why not just try and qualify for somethin’ solo? Why are you doing this to me?” Jou shouted.

“The Nova Squadron has a certain level of status on this campus which will help me begin my career on the flagship vessel and—” Kaiba kept that measured tone, even if the fury in his eyes refused to subside.

“Is that it? Is that all? This team _still_ means _nothing_ to you? Even after all that—fuck even after _us_ —it’s not _fair_ to bail out for one tiny mistake before we even have the—”

Like the word “weak” had broken the damn on Jou’s frustration after Springball, “fairness” snapped something in Kaiba’s eyes. He ran forward and shoved Jou into the side of the shuttlecraft, pressing him against the craft with a strong forearm. Jou’s long hair splayed against the silver plating of the shuttle. 

Jou didn’t even flinch, though his expression soured.

“ _This is not a matter of what is fair_ ,” Kaiba said, his voice low and predatory. He inhaled sharply and the oxygen seemed to calm him down, just a speck. “When another pilot is out of formation it’s not a matter of _justice_ to die.” 

Jou’s breathing was harsh and quick, chest working against Kaiba’s arm. “Why are you doing this?! You don’t want to hang out with the team or make friends, and now ya don’t even want to finish the maneuver at the slightest deviation. No matter what I do, you don't trust me or anyone else!”

Kaiba made a choking noise, and applied slightly more pressure to Jou’s chest. Jou looked him dead in the eyes for a long moment. Kaiba was so close Jou could hear his teeth grinding against each other. Even though he was locked against the craft as if Kaiba was a vice, Jou realized this was Kaiba holding back.

“You wanna bail? Bail now. I don’t want to lose the cup over this,” Jou said. He meant to keep yelling, but the tension was dropping off. Jou wasn’t going to be afraid of anyone, let alone this ass. “Tristan can take your spot in a heartbeat.”

Kaiba’s eyes flared, his arm tensed impossibly more. And then, he just released. He stepped back to let Jou walk away.

The chip was tucked into the holster on Kaiba’s chest, next to the knife and it burned into his ribs.

. . .

One explosion would have done it, but two was more than enough to keep Jou’s mind fixated. Normally, we would have gone on his usual walk around the Embarcadero, but he was certain that the cause of his ire would be out there, looking half-ready to fight the moon and half-completely defeated.

So Jou’s options were limited to the rest of the city on food, or the rest of the galaxy in his shuttlecraft. But he thought standing in the shuttlecraft bay might be too much too soon, and the brightness and energy of the city sounded like too much.

At this time of night, the recreational holosuites were typically empty. Sometimes they were locked, but if there was one skill the resistance had drilled into him it was the ability to go where he was not wanted.

The hallway was long and dark. The overhead lights were off, but windows facing the bay stretched across the full span to Jou’s left. The lush academy gardens were blooming with exotic plants—visible only in grayscale due to the cast-off light from the city. And past the gardens lay the expanse of water, the bridge, and echoes of the rocky Marin Headlands. Jou looked at it for a second, and had second thoughts about going outside to haunt the night again. Maybe by some miracle he would even be able to avoid Kaiba. Earth could be big enough for both of them.

The lock on the one furthest down the clean academy hall was already busted. The control panel still had the tool still impaled in it, a few glowing neon purple wires dripping from the gaping panel.

It looked like a rush job, but a competent one. It was as bold as an “occupied” sign—but Jou couldn’t help himself. The more he was supposed to stay out… the more he wanted to see what was inside.

“Kheet'agh,” Jou said as soon as the door revealed the only person he really didn’t want to see.

If Kaiba was startled, he didn’t let it show. He was dressed in a proper Springball uniform that left little to the imagination, and his racket smacked the ball as it cascaded toward him. “I left you the whole bay,” Kaiba growled.

“’S all yers,” Jou responded. Kaiba swatted at the ball again. “And why Springball? Don’t’cha have some Romulan nonsense ta work on?”

The ball bounced off of the ceiling and Kaiba hit it again. “I will defeat you next time we play.”

Jou laughed bitterly, “Didn’t ya win last time?”

Kaiba deflected the ball with his forearm. The smack sounded hard, and Jou was certain that it would leave a bruise. “Not by a real margin. At that point it was practically chance.”

Jou rolled his eyes and stepped more fully into the court. 

Jou really wanted to still be mad. Kaiba refused to admit to feeling anything for the team, or to apologize for screwing up the practice. But he was already getting what appeared to be a pretty good work out in—chest already heaving with heavy breaths, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, and the Springball suit clinging to him like a second skin. The blue spandex was outlining the muscles of his chest and the thin knife sheath underneath and Jou had a hard time focusing.

Kaiba backhanded the ball towards the far wall. His biceps flexed as he cast it away.

Jou caught the ball after it bounced against the wall in front of them. “Fine. Rematch?”

Kaiba nodded. “Computer, start Springball Program Kaiba-1A.”

“Affirmative. The game begins now,” the computer answered in her calming voice.

Jou flung the ball at the wall, starting the game anew.

Playing against a worthy opponent was more fun than playing against himself, Kaiba decided. Sure, it was trickier too—Kaiba wasn’t as nimble as the Bajoran, and had already been playing for a while so he was worried he wouldn’t have enough stamina. At one point, he had to throw himself against the ground at one point to prevent Jou from scoring off of an excellent spike. 

It worked, but in the process he managed to shove his left shoulder into the ground. The muscles felt like they bunched around the holographic hardwood floor.

Kaiba knew the timer on the game wouldn’t stop, but the shooting pain in his shoulder made him want to stay still and horizontal on the ground of the court. With a dep inhale he squirmed a bit, only to feel a familiar hand grab his right elbow.

“Kaiba? You ok?” Jou asked, pulling Kaiba to lie face up on the Court floor.

Kaiba tore his right arm away, about to use it to drag himself back on his feet. “The game isn’t over.”

“I think ya dislocated yer own shoulder, and I’m not gonna hit the ball again until I see it. Stay down,” Jou ordered. He was mildly surprised when Kaiba actually obeyed. Maybe he’s in that much pain, Jou thought darkly.

“Computer, pause timer,” Kaiba shouted to the AI from his prone position on the floor. Jou stifled a laugh.

“Game paused,” the AI echoed.

Jou knelt down at his side. His knees hit the paneling as he straddled Kaiba to get a better look at his shoulder.

“It’s really nothing. Not even worth pausing the game for,” Kaiba huffed. His eyes remained glued to the wall of the holodeck.

Jou ignored the protest and gently reached for the injured shoulder. Kaiba flinched away under him.

“C’mon. I’m not tryin’ to hurt you,” Jou whispered as he tried to catch the shoulder again.

Jou was focused on cradling it with soft hands. Kaiba felt somewhat like a baby bird that landed in his path. The feeling was foreign, almost as much as someone reaching for Kaiba without trying to hurt him.

Kaiba’s arm really didn’t hurt that bad, and he didn’t want Jou thinking he couldn’t tolerate a little pain. But Jou was investigating his arm with such care, he couldn’t help himself but lay there and soak it in.

“Alright, can ya wiggle it?” Jou observed a twitch as his thumb skimmed over Kaiba’s clavicle.

Kaiba complied, albeit with an involuntary wince.

Jou nodded, deep in thought. “Yeah, I think it’s dislocated. We should go to the med bay in the morning, and maybe put some ice on it now.”

Kaiba leaned up on his good arm, “I certainly do not need to be nursed by _you_. I think you’re just afraid of losing the match again.”

Jou edged backwards, resting against Kaiba’s thighs. “In yer dreams. But I won’t kick yer but when yer hurt. I’ll beat ya in a fair fight one a’ these days.”

“I’ll crush you despite this handicap—”

“Didn’t you hear me? I’m not tryin’ to hurt you. I’m not testin’ you or whatever,” Jou pressed in a little, getting up in Kaiba’s face. He realized, a little late, the advantages and disadvantages of his position. On the plus side, he had somewhat incidentally pinned Kaiba to the floor. Their chests were very close, and Kaiba released short, terse breaths.

Kaiba gazed forward, slowly processing his words. 

For a genius, Jou thought, he sure has a hard time understanding some basic things. 

“Maybe we should go to the infirmary now,” Jou proposed.

The proposition lingered in the air for a second before Kaiba closed the distance with a searing kiss. Jou was caught off guard, but kissed back with only a minor delay. Kaiba opened his mouth to deepen the kiss, but Jou reluctantly pulled back.

“Wait, no. I’m mad at you. This,” Jou gestured to the holosuite which they really, technically, were not supposed to be in, “ain’t the time or place.”

Kaiba smirked, leaning in again, a soft green flush on his cheeks. “It’s never the time or the place for us, is it?” His forehead made contact with Jou’s, sweat slick bangs lining up. 

Jou shook his head and pulled himself to his feet. A hand was offered to Kaiba, who declined and rose on his own, unaided.

“No. Yer shoulder is busted. We’re not messin’ with that. At least let’s get you some ice,” Jou smiled, “And we can see what happens from there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the comments and kudos! This chapter is a little shorter than others, but we're getting close to the main event!

**Author's Note:**

> Jou being a Bajoran with a Brooklyn(-ish) accent makes exactly as much sense here as in canon, and you cannot change my mind.  
> None of the naming conventions for the relevant species were at all accurate. Forgive me.  
> The Federation still uses Imperial measurements because shut up. 
> 
> Update schedule: as I post yet another WIP, I need to let y'all know there will be two more chapters and they are mostly drafted. I just got eager and couldn't help but want to share this project. 
> 
> I loved writing it, it has meant a lot to me, and I hope that you enjoyed reading it!


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